ponticle

[ponticle]

something something trouble

[ponticle]

I love you Anders but you really need to step up your game

[ponticle]

Elissa Cousland - "Strength"

I think I must have deleted the ask, but SOMEONE gave me the tarot card for strength for Elissa Cousland. So here you go, mysterious stranger! Tagging @dadrunkwriting for a reblog?

Thank you to @laurelsofhighever for permission to reference this nao if ger version of Castle Cousland she put together!

It takes Elissa Cousland three years before she’s ready to walk into Castle Cousland again. Repairs are nearly complete by then, and Fergus has had the good sense not to try to restore everything to just the way it was before. There’s no pretending this is the same place it was before the massacre. But it’s a stronghold that’s stood too long and served too well to be abandoned for the sake of trauma. But even at first glance, well… there are paintings where elaborate tapestries once hung, the much-reduced library has been moved to a set of rooms once set aside for honored guests, there’s a memorial to the dead in the courtyard—and the family’s chambers have been moved from the third floor of the keep to the second. Fergus may have returned to the castle practically the moment Queen Anora was crowned, but the new servants tell her he hasn’t set foot on the third floor in the years since.

Elissa doesn't fault him for it, but she won't allow herself the same. On the first Sunday after she returns, right after morning service, she forces herself to climb, one step at a time, up to the old family quarters.

It's… easier than she thought it would be. She almost expected it to be physically painful, the stairs slicing into her feet like caltrops. But the feeling is more yhat of a march, the plodding progress of their slog through the wilds after Ostagar, before the Chasind found them. Step after step, each one a terrible effort, and with no expectation of comfort at the end of their journey, if there is an end. She reaches the top of the stairs, stands in the corridor facing the set or rooms where her parents slept and lives. Through that door is the solar where Elissa sat on her mother's lap as a child, listening to stories of her warrior days, her own determination to be even braver sharpening. To her right are Fergus's tooms. Fergus's, and Orianna’s, and Oren's. To the left are her own, and the stairs to the carle’s tallest tower. She turns right. Their might not be an end to grief, but she will look it in the eye the same way she did Rendin Howe before she slit his throat 

She made it through Ostagar, and months in the wild. She made it north to Highever, and then to Denerim. She made it past Howe’s guards, and she made it, wounded and limping  into the Landsmeet to lend her voice to Alim Surana. Elissa Cousland might nob have fought in the battle of Denerim, but she had fought for her country. For what was right.

Three years later, she wonders if she’ll ever be able to stop fighting.

[ponticle]

Okay dragon age fandom time to ask the most important question... out of all the companions revealed who would you like to romance the most (if they're romanceable) based on what we've seen in the trailer

[ponticle]

um hello mr mage killer 👀

[ponticle]

PSA: Spring Cleaning

Hey team, I'm starting to spring clean my AO3* tomorrow. That means that I'm going to be deleting some of my older works, including some gifts.

Works slated for deletion next couple of days (May 28-29)

One Night and Sunrise (F!Adaar/Sera, Cullen Rutherford/Dorian Pavus) | Last Breath (Cassandra Pentaghast/Regalyan D'Marcall, Cassandra Pentaghast/Fenris/m!Hawke) | The Rubble of Empire series (Dorian Pavus/The Iron Bull) | The Ballad of Badass Dave (Dorian Pavus/The Iron Bull) | As Above, So Below (Various Relationships) | Under the Skin, Over the Heart (Dorian Pavus/The Iron Bull) | Sleeping Dogs series (m!Adaar/Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford/Raleigh Samson) | Flights (f!Adaar/Sera)

This isn't the end of the process, eventually I'll be deleting all works earlier than 2019. I'll also be locking the more current works (for the purposes of foiling AI scraping... or at least to make me feel better about it). If I've deleted a work you particularly liked, or one I made as a gift to you, and you want a copy, please get in touch!

[ponticle]

Get Rec'd: Rare Pair Edition

Another edition of this little fic rec series I'm doing! This one is all about the rare pairs. Maker, some of these writers are bloody clever, let me tell you. The thing with rare pairs, is that - well, to me, anyway - half the fun of writing them is to help a reader understand why you think these two weirdos would work together. You don't want to get preachy about it, but yeah... it has to make sense.

So go ahead and take a gander at these treats. And if you're picking up what these authors are putting down, why not leave them a comment and a kudos while you're there?

Sera's Journal of Wonder, Not-Cookies, and Bad-Poetry

sweettasteofbitter | Sera x Cassandra | 716 words

What they say: What if Sera fell for Cassandra, and we had only Sera's journal as a source on how their relationship develops?

What I say: Frick, this is so clever. Sera's a tricky character, because she has a very particular voice, and a bunch of... life... that isn't immediately apparent without a lot of thinking and sorting through the little snippets that she provides in games. She's complex af, and that's just Sera - Cassandra is equally complex and tricky, and while this fic doesn't focus on her, she's there... oh boy, it's great. Everything is treated so nicely, there's good flow, and it's a wonderful treatment of style too. What a rare gift this fic is.

Surprises of a Veiled World (Married!Sorian series)

Bread_Stars | Dorian x Solas | 20 319 words

What they say: Solas had been reading a tome on magical theory regarding Lyrium and had planned on submitting his research later that day. It wasn’t his subject of choice but the Inquisitor had requested for it to be done and that duty had fallen to him. He had been hoping to finish it as soon as possible in order to return to research that actually interested him.

Unfortunately, with the arrival of Bull and Sera, that was unlikely to be the case now.

What I say: I love the complexity of shipping these two characters together - both fiercely proud, intensely intellectual, and deeply sensitive, they could be an emotionally explosive couple. But this author has a delicate touch that allows for the characters to be - I think - true to those elements, but also allow space for each other to learn and grow and change. This series is really interesting and cool, and honestly, it's been an unexpected delight.

A Simple Truth

ponticle / @ponticle | Alistair x Anders | 16 224 words

What they say: “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” --Oscar Wilde

A documentary film crew captures the progress of a humanitarian mission, led by two university professors, turned activists, Anders and Alistair. Everything is not what it seems.

What I say: Okay, so full disclosure, ponticle and I are married, but that doesn't mean that I have to rec their work. In fact, because I am a weirdo, it actually makes me more critical of their work (???) But this fic, right, this fic is legit interesting; complex and sad and filled with action and suspense and written in honestly the most... bizarre-in-a-good-way way. It's a really fascinating read, and definitely worth your time.

The Last Leg

celeme / @celemee | Bethany x Isabela | 436 words | Major Character Death

What they say: Bethany's hand shakes around a cup of coffee. The morning is bright, the sky so blue, and the birds sing their spring melodies. There's a gentle wind in her hair as she sits on the terrace of her and Isabela's beach house.

Her nightmares have always been bad, but rarely have they followed to her waking hours. Lately it's been more a rule than exception.

What I say: Way to scoop my heart out with a spoon, celeme. The Calling is an incredibly fertile piece of canon for writers who want to delve into some end-of-life angst, and when it's handled as adroitly as this work manages it, it's definitely worth your time as a reader. In addition to this, these characters are such neat foils for each other, there's some really great character building too, which I am always a sucker for. So good! So sad! Ha, two of my favorite things.

____

So what are you waiting for? Go read some fic! And if you enjoy these works as well, why not leave a comment and a kudos for the author - trust me, we always appreciate it. Also if you know who these people are on Tumblr, please do tag them!

[ponticle]

This post on being with Team Loghainfuckers has been living rent-free in my head for about a week now, so thank you @thiefbird and @theadhddragon for that, haha (the laughter implies sarcasm, but I'm literally thanking you, I'm just a weirdo who nervous-laughs). ANYWAY.

As anyone who has followed me for five seconds will understand, this blog stans complexity. And so when @theadhddragon made some excellent points about Cullen and Samson... well, hell, I'm just gonna quote 'em:

CULLEN should've filled Samson's roll in Inquisition, he was set up perfect already to fill that position. His experience in Kinloch Hold and in Kirkwall certainly gives him enough trauma to react badly to the mages choosing to split from the Chantry, his lines in DAII are all anti-mage, he follows Merideth happily right up to the end until shit hits the fan. It would've been so easy to write him trying to reform the Templars into something "better", in his mind, that Corypheus can manipulate. Samson was set up perfect to be the struggling ex addict that has enough history of showing sympathy/empathy for mages that he'd make the perfect addition to the inner circle

I found myself nodding in agreement. The original post says that Cullen is boring and infuriating, and in Inquisition, yeah, kinda, but only because he's not allowed to live his full narrative complexity. He's not allowed to have a full-noise freak out when/if you decide to side with the mages; he's not allowed to let his terror of that situation show, or his feelings of betrayal if you've been previously sympathetic or interested in his life as a Templar. He still respects the Templars as an organization in Inquisition, which is why he WOULD have been perfect to fill Samson's villain role in that game. But he also responds well to an authority figure, which is why his relationship with Meredith is what it is and also why Cassandra is able to bring him to the Inquisition.

That is not true of Samson. It's not that he hates authority (though that argument could be made, maybe), but he certainly needs to be bought into an organization. What do I mean by that? In the beginning, when Samson thought that he had pledged himself to an organization that was protecting mages from both themselves and the outside world, he was a good Templar - able to follow orders, and he kept within the bounds of his oath and the organization's rules. It was only when he felt his own ethical standpoints in conflict with those of the organization - when Meredith began to be more interested in exerting control outside of the Circle environment and began to interpret Chantry doctrine in a way that he felt was extreme - that he began to act out. In a nutshell, he's a morally complex little fucker who isn't impressed by how big one's metaphorical dick is.

Can you imagine a character like that responding to the Inquisitor's plight? He's got no love for the Chantry specifically, but he's been in a position where he's been mistrusted, and potentially abused, lived in poverty, and harassed by the Kirkwall Guard. And then Cassandra goes and chucks this poor bastard in jail, "for their own good", and he's like "I THOUGHT WE WERE TRYING TO IMPROVE THE SITUATION HERE." Especially if the (future)Inquisitor is a mage, but potentially also if they're an elf - Darktown borders on the Alienage in Kirkwall, so he's probably encountered elves who were kinder to him than humans as well as witnessed the abuse of them at the hands of both Guards and Templars alike. FUCK. I am having feelings about it all, and I am not sad about it.

But anyway. Complexity is not the go-to for all readers, and it probably complicates matters more than a gaming company's timelines allow for. And then there is the visual aspect too - Cullen's more classically pretty than Samson would ever be, and for a lot of people, it's easier to believe in the redemption of a nice-lookin', young blond fella (so same-same with Loghain, I guess). I dunno, this post is getting kind of long now, but it's so interesting and cool to think about this stuff. Maybe what I'm saying, ultimately, is... mistreated-character-fuckers, unite?

[ponticle]

Today started February, @aurlyn and I are working together again this year. We are ready for the @14daysdalovers.

Have fun💖

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44710213/chapters/112491490

[ponticle]

What's this? A new chapter of Holy, Holy, Holy? And we're almost at the end of Part II????

In this chapter, things are beginning to fall apart rapidly for the art-rock band Fader, so that's fun. Isabela and Hawke are out of custody, but Aveline is frustrated, and Anders has Some Feelings. Merrill gets to eat cake though, so it's not all bad.

You can read the whole thing here, or you can use the power of accessing Chapter 28 directly.

[ponticle]

Okay, filth-pile, let’s get a really filthy Isabela/calpernia story… not like E-rated… like literally dirty. Make them fall into a garbage pile? Jump into a polluted lake for some reason? Work as plumbers? None of those? You decide. Song lyrics: “I’ve been trying to keep up with all of these great expectations, so I keep on faking.” (Morning in America by Jon Bellion)

Haha, oh wow, what a @dadrunkwriting prompt! I really wanted to do something related to the Terry Gilliam film 'Brazil' here, but I just couldn't make it work. So, have a Wastelands* story instead. This is music festival mud, so I guess it still counts.

(* 'Wastelands' is a huge rock band AU project which - should you have, I dunno, a few millennia to kill, you can read here on AO3. Suffice it to say for this story, Isabela is a bassist with a band called Fader, who also has a side-project called Pirate Queen. Calpernia works for an indie label called Venatori. They're both at the music festival Skyhold. This story takes place at the end of Bright Wastelands, Full of Noise)

Miles from the Lights of the City

Characters: Isabela, Calpernia | Tags: Possible future relationship???, music festivals, rock band au, modern with magic au | Word Count: 1311 | Rating: M-ish (bit of language)

It’s nearly fucking four am, and finally she can leave. Merrill’s gone already, she went with Tal and Anders, and you know what? That’s fine. That’s really fucking fine. 

Isabela slams the lid down on her guitar case and snaps the catches closed. The backstage area is practically deserted. Will the last day of Skyhold go ahead? Who cares? The festival format is dead anyway, no matter what Anders thinks. Fuck, she never should have let Zevran talk her into touring with Fader again - they’re as dysfunctional as ever. Did he just want to get out of Pirate Queen? Isabela rises, dragging her guitar case up with her, and sighs in frustration. Stupid Skyhold. Stupid Templars, stupid fucking mages. Politics always gets in the way of everything, and it’s not… it’s just… 

Grimly, she walks out of the green room that she and Merrill have shared. Tal and Anders always have the one next door; Tal insists on it, but he never seems to want to have Fenris in there. ‘Darling boys’ my ass, Isabela thinks to herself and clenches her jaw. It’s always been like this. They’ve never been equal, and she doesn’t know why the fuck Fenris puts up with it. Has Tal always been this way? Selfish and insecure? Maybe. She’d met him first, years ago now; they sat on the dock after watching that shitty band at the Sewer. Yeah, that’s right. They sat on the dock with Carver, sharing the cheap bottle of wine back and forth between them. The Hawke boys were just no-name refugee kids. Carver had just gotten out of the Fereldan army; his hair was still in a buzzcut. 

Oh, huh - that was the night Armada broke up. She grins, remembering the fight with Castilion, there in the middle of the pit. Who was even playing at the time? Chantry Fuck, maybe? They always seemed to be playing at the Sewer. That was a digusting venue, but it was all they could manage back in the day.  Maker, Chantry Fuck. She hasn’t thought of those guys in years. Them and… what was it? Oh yeah - Black City Blues. Damn, they had a fine-ass drummer. Isabela gets a mental image of a well-muscled torso and a lighting-flash of smile, and then the memory is gone. Where are those guys now, she wonders, feeling old. The tired-looking security guard nods to her as he opens the outer door. She smiles at him and nods her thanks. Then she’s out, into the cold mountain air of Haven.

She’s staying down in the city, like most of the bands. There’s a car at the artists entry for her - Aveline doesn’t do the tour management anymore, but you can guarantee she won’t leave anyone hanging. Big Girl has been looking after all their asses for years. Briefly, Isabela looks up at the sky. The night is crystal clear and freezing, and the stars seem to flicker overhead. It’s almost pretty. Isabela hefts the guitar case again, pulling it up to cradle the heavy object against her chest as she looks down, ready to descend the stairs, then she chuckles under her breath. Mud. There’s mud everywhere down there. It’s been raining all day, and it’s a fucking music festival, so why is she surprised? Why am I surprised about anything, she thinks, sounding miserable and bitter even to herself. Because I want the world to be better. 

Descending the final step, her boots squelch as she steps into the soft dirt. It’s not going to get any better, and she has a ways to walk, so Isabela raises her chin and strides forward. She passes the backstage areas, completely dark now, security guards muttering low into their intercoms, sanitation workers calling to each other as they find a way to drive a forklift over the soft ground. What a weird day. Fader’s set was shit, even before that purge. As much as they’d been at loggerheads during this tour, it still sucked to see Anders and Merrill go down like that. The way Anders had clutched his head and just… gone to his knees on stage. It was doomed from the start, Isabela thinks, everyone thinks it’s going to be so great, but… you can’t reclaim the past. And who would want to? The past. It was shit at the time, why would it be any better now that…

The thought dies as the woman turns toward her and smiles. There’s a gap between her front teeth; it’s cute. Isabela smiles even as she frowns. “Do I know you?”

The woman laughs a little. “Probably not,” she says. Oh, an accent - that’s cute too. Isabela raises her eyebrows and the woman’s smile grows. “But I know you. Isabela, right? From Pirate Queen. And Fader, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” Isabela repeats. Fader is usually the one people know, but it’s nice to hear Pirate Queen mentioned first. “Yeah. That’s me. Who are you?”

The woman shrugs and shifts. The long skirt she wears moves gently with the motion of her hips as she adjusts her stance, and Isabela sees it’s caked with mud. The woman sighs audibly and looks away. “My name is Calpernia. I’m an A-and-R rep with Venatori, which used to be a subsidiary of Imperium Records.”

“Huh,” Isabela says, and shakes her head. “Never heard of you.”

Calpernia laughs a little and regards Isabela slyly. “Nobody gets into the business side of the music industry to become well-known. Or at least… they shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be very satisfying.”

Isabela snorts a laugh, but says nothing. She gazes out, into the lot, and sees headlamps moving. “I think this is my ride.”

Calpernia nods and wraps her arms around herself as if she’s cold, but says nothing. Isabela studies her out of the corner of her eye, ostensibly watching the car approach. “Hey,” she says, glancing to Calpernia as the car slows on the cracked asphalt. “You want a ride? Are you staying in Haven?”

Calpernia shakes her head. “I have my own transport,” she says, and Isabela frowns. 

“Come on,” she says. “You look freezing. Let me give you a ride - beats waiting up here in the mud.”

Calpernia looks at her steadily, the moonlight shining in her pale hair. “No,” she says firmly. “I’ll wait.” She smiles, rather mysteriously, and looks away. “I’m good at waiting.”

The driver has opened the trunk of the car, and Isabela approaches it, bringing the guitar case up in her hand. “Okay,” she says, though the refusal puzzles her. “You coming back tomorrow?”

The driver closes the trunk with a clonk and Isabela circles the car. She puts her hand on the door handle, and looks at Calpernia over the car, waiting for an answer. Calpernia is looking out, toward the lights of the city, and smiling. “Maybe,” she tells Isabela, and then looks at her. “Are you?”

“Maybe,” Isabela smirks. “I hadn’t decided yet.”

Calpernia chuckles silently, and looks away again. Isabela watches her for a moment longer, then opens the car door. She sits, closing the door behind her, then looks at the driver in his rear-view mirror. “Just wait a sec,” she tells him. “She’ll change her mind.” But the moments grow, and Calpernia does not. She just gazes off, into the distance, away from the mud. And finally, Isabela says, “Okay. Let’s go.” The driver starts the engine, and pulls away from the artist entrance of Skyhold, beginning the descent into the city of Haven once more. Isabela leans back, looking out the window, not seeing how the lights of the city slide in and out of view as they move down the mountain. The stars shine brightly over the mud beneath, but Isabela only sees her own reflection looking back at herself in the glass of the window. Maybe, she thinks, and smiles.

[ponticle]

Happy friday / dadwc!! For a prompt, I would like to submit: Fenris/ Isabela, cyberpunk AU? With additional mood prompt if desired: delight?

Thank you SO MUCH for this cool prompt. I love a good AU. This is basically a beginning of a story and it didn't turn out delightful, more like sinister... but I hope you like it anyway.

...for @dadrunkwriting... Isabela/Fenris, Cyberpunk AU

-------------

This is just a pickup — get in and out quick, keep her head down. Isabela’s done a thousand just like it, and yet she’s nervous. 

[A series of break-in’s in the upper city have been linked to… ]

[The i-85 is congested after a three-car accident. Police are responding… ]

[…brand new implants from only 12,500.99…]

She hits the radio to turn it off and listens to the sound of the rain, falling in sheets. She grips the steering wheel with her left hand — its silver metal glints in the streetlamp and she moves to cover it with her sleeve. Even after all these years, her upgrades don’t feel like her. She shakes her head, takes a breath. They weren’t her choice; none of this was.

She moves quickly through the alley to the back entrance of the club: The Hanged Man, they called it. A quick glance up at its neon sign confirms she’s in the right place, even if the H is blinking strangely and the last N is busted. 

“Hey, you can’t come in this way.” A huge man with a cybernetic eye puts his similarly enhanced arm in her way, as she tries to cross the threshold. The rain drips into her eyes as she inclines her head to look up at him, and she tries to blink it away.

“I’m here to see somebody,” she says quietly. 

“Who?”

“Goes by the name of Fenris,” she says, leaning in. “I’m here to pick up a package.”

The man cocks his head to the side, and his eye focuses loudly, spinning in its raw metal socket.

Isabela feels the tension in the moment and wills herself not to speak. She clicks her left thumb and forefinger together, feeling the metal ping. 

“Fine. But you speak to no one else,” he says, “You got it, courrier?”

She nods and steps in past him. 

The inside is full of smoke and sweat. The smell immediately stings her nose, but she likes it. It reminds her of a place she used to visit, before all this — before everyone lived in the cities… when it was still possible to get to the ocean. Without thinking, she looks back over her shoulder at the rain outside; it’s the closest she ever gets to the water these days. 

All the usual suspects are there: a drunk at the bar is singing, while the bartender pours him another, A sad-looking man stares into his empty glass… A few women in the corner leer at her as she passes, eyes lingering over the place where her metal arm joins with her clavicle. It has never healed right, and it itches, but she won’t touch it now — not while they’re looking at her with such depraved fascination. 

It’s not as if these kinds of implants are rare — you’d see them all the time in the upper city — but down here in Lowtown… that’s another story… one that might get her dismembered… or killed… depending on the day. 

She shrugs further into her coat and scans the room with her neurals. Several people who match the description come up red, and then — there he is: in the back corner, holding an absurdly full glass of red synth-wine. 

He seems to recognize her at the same moment and he nods in her direction so she’ll approach. 

“Have you got it?” she says, quickly, once she’s within three feet of where he’s sitting.

“Sit,” he says, and gestures to the dark velvet chair on his left. 

She doesn’t want to sit; she wants to be back in her car, driving down the i-85 — even considering the multi-car pile-up.

…but she does… sit.

“How’d you get in here?” asks Fenris.

“I walked — what kind of a question is that?” Isabela snaps.

Fenris ignores her. “Do you know what you’re carrying?”  

She narrows her eyes and says nothing.

“Well?”

“No, and I like it that way,” says Isabela.

Fenris laughs, then — loud and sinister. “You’d better come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Isabela says, beginning to stand. 

Fenris grabs her arm. Realization dawns as his fingers clasp around the smooth metal of her forearm and he stands to look at her eye-to-eye. “You’re not from here…”

She clenches her jaw, refusing to answer. 

“Neither am I,” says Fenris, more quietly, this time, and winks, as the white tattoos on his neck faintly start to glow. 

Isabela’s eyes widen. “Neural bioluminescence?” 

He nods. 

“That’s a neat trick,” she breathes. “Where’d you get that done?”

“Like I said, you better come with me.”

It feels dangerous. Isabela hesitates. There’s a question that she’s had since she walked in, since she got this assignment… hell, since she arrived in this maker-forsaken city… but—

Then Fenris interrupts her train of thought, “There’s more to this than you know…”

She regards him skeptically, but in her mind she knows he’s right; she’s always known.

“...I’m not supposed to say until we’re alone,” he whispers, leaning in impossibly close. “...but… Hawke sent me.”

Isabela suppresses a gasp.

“...he’s been watching you since you came to Lowtown… and… he’s ready to meet you,” says Fenris. “So… are you ready, too?”

Isabela thinks of the rain outside, the smallness of this city, the way she has never fit on its dry land… the questions she holds inside and the way she ignores the gnawing in her gut… and just like that, she decides: 

“Take me to him.”

----------------

[ponticle]

I really like this. Thank you so much! Love your characterization of Isabela and the way she's conflicted, but uncompromising. <3

Happy Friday! A micro-prompt for you "I trusted you" for Isabela/Anders? (Or different people, if you prefer.). Happy writing!

It wound up more platonic, but here's some Isabela/Anders.

@dadrunkwriting

It wasn’t as though she wanted to leave them behind. She wanted the ocean. She wanted a ship. She wanted Castillon off her back and nothing to do with the Qunari. She wanted her life back.

Leaving them behind was incidental, or it was supposed to be.

Isabela shoved the hastily written note into Sam’s limp hands and ran, the Tome safely tucked in a box as she made for the docks. Staying was stillness, and stillness was death. Not staying could also be death, but it wasn’t guaranteed. If she stayed she would die at the hands of the Qunari rampaging through the city, or some Dark Town fool taking their chance. At this point, Hawke may do the deed herself. She’d looked pissed when they parted.

The docks were quiet compared to the rest of the city by now, but it was bathed in just as much blood as anywhere else; it’d be years before the stone stopped looking so ghastly. But most of the boats were still at their moorings, the attack clearly took them all by surprise. Fools, to have let their guards down with Qunari warriors in their midst. Not even the passably nice Qunari they got in Rivain. These weren’t the bakers or the child minders or the teachers, these were the warriors whose only purpose was to convert or to kill.

Isabela wasn’t about to convert, and she wasn’t in the mood to die, so she made a third option.

She boarded a smaller vessel, not so small that she could easily man it on her own, but she could do it anyway. The start of a new fleet. It was old but well maintained, the sail more patches than anything else. It would float, at least.

“I trusted you.”

Isabela stopped dead, but only for an instant. She didn’t have time to dawdle.

“That’s your mistake,” she called over her shoulder. Ropes here, check for food, keep moving. “I never claimed to be trustworthy, did I?”

Anders exhaled loudly through his nose. “No, you didn’t. But you didn’t say you’d run at the first sign of trouble, either.”

She jolted and threw her head over the side of the ship to look at him on the dock. “The first- Oh, I get it,” Isabela laughed. “You think you’re going to trick me into coming back? And what, give up? Let the Qunari have their stupid book?” She stowed the box with her prize below a sack filled with whatever rations the former owner kept aboard.

“You could.” 

“I won’t. Tell Hawke- I don’t know. Tell her whatever will piss her off the most.”

He barked a cold, humorless laugh. “I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders if it’s all the same.”

“Funny that, so do I. You could always come with.” Isabela was surprised to find it was an honest offer. Kirkwall wasn’t good for Anders. Maybe the sea would be. Give him some of the freedom he always claimed to want but never actually grasped. “It’s not a big boat but there’s room for two.”

Anders was silent. Isabela looked over the edge again, but the deck was empty. Damned idiot mage. 

“Right. Bye.”

[ponticle]

Hey hey, it's Friday! How about a prompt for Isabela in a modern AU of some description - maybe using the concept of a rainy monday morning?

Thanks for the great prompt. Here's something <like> Isabela/Morrigan in a modern university AU.

...for @dadrunkwriting.

-------------

Fucking shit. I’m late. 

…it would be one thing if this were the first time… but it isn’t… 

“It’s not a very good story,” I hear myself saying. 

Morrigan — my research advisor — looks unimpressed, and I thought she’d just yell at me and let me get to work, but now she’s got me explaining why I’m late… like she’s the grim reaper and I have to account for the minutes of my life I robbed from her with my tardiness. 

“...but I guess I’ll tell it anyway…?” I take a deep breath and steel myself for what was a very annoying sequence of events to live, and is sure to be a more annoying sequence to retell.

“The moment I stepped out onto the sidewalk, I realized it was raining and I hadn't brought an umbrella. I thought I had one,” I explain. In truth, some of this lateness is due to the way I dug around in my too-big purse for-fucking-ever trying to locate the one I thought I had, but I don’t think she’ll approve of the expletive.

“I looked… I mean, I thought I had it… but eventually resigned myself to being wet,” I continue.

She nods at me and I hope this is enough, but apparently it isn’t, because she just keeps staring.

“Well… then I started walking… my glasses got all fogged up and wet,” I point at them for emphasis, although that’s hardly necessary; I can barely see her through them, except to note that she’s glaring at me. “...and because of that I didn’t see the pothole…”

Without meaning to, I glance down at my left ankle, which is probably fucking broken, based on how it feels; she follows my gaze.

“I twisted my ankle and fell into a pretty deep puddle.”

She nods again.

“And because I lost my balance, I spilled my coffee everywhere,” I interrupt myself with a guffaw that completely takes me by surprise; I’m verging on hysterical, but something in me won’t let me stop; the story is now telling itself. “Mostly — you’ll be happy to know this part — my shirt caught it…” I laugh again — this time even louder. “...so we don’t have to worry about me contaminating any…” [laugh, laugh, laugh] “...important…” [snort] “...water supplies.” [Tears in my eyes.]

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

“All right, well, I suppose you’re having a Monday,” says Morrigan finally. “Get to work.” She gestures to my messy desk and turns on her heel, but before she disappears into her office, she turns to me and smiles, both devilish and warm. 

…maybe I’ll be all right, after all…

[ponticle]

happy friday! a dialogue prompt for you: "“Oh, come on, I wasn't *that* drunk.”"

Thanks for the great prompt! Here's a very brief Isabela/Merrill for you. :)

Written for @dadrunkwriting.

-------------

“Oh, come on,” she slurs. “I wasn’t that drunk…”

She was, though. Everyone in here knows it — including Isabela herself. She was, in fact, even drunker than she is right now. 

Hawke, Anders, and Fenris look around the room, embarrassment apparent on their faces. Isabela might be drunk, but she’s not too drunk to notice that. It’s the kind of look they keep giving her lately — the kind of look that usually inspires her to leave. 

Leave? 

That’s a good question: why hasn’t she just left yet. She’s had half a mind to for ages, and none of these stupid boys seem to care about her; they act like she’s a nuisance and—

“Bel?” comes a small voice. “Bel, where are you?”

Isabela turns to the sound, an ancient reticular reflex kicking in, and even though everything is blurry, she sees her… Merrill. 

“Bel, are you all right?” Merrill repeats. 

Merrill pushes her way between Anders and Hawke, flapping her hands so they’ll get out of her way. Before Isabela knows what’s happening, Merrill has her hands on both sides of Isabela’s face, smooshing her cheeks, pushing the hair off her brow, and checking her temperature. 

“C’mon, let’s get you upstairs,” says Merrill. 

She starts to pull Isabela upright and around the corner. She waves a hand toward Hawke and the others and their voices fade into the background. Isabela doesn’t resist this coddling, for reasons she can’t name. The only thing she does know is that there is a reason she hasn’t left — it’s Merrill. 

------------------

[ponticle]

saw a post talking about bethany and carver and how strange their fanon characterizations are, and tumblr kept messing up and i couldn’t reblog it, so i’m making my own post with what i put in the tags

bethany and carver both hate their lives, even before they come to kirkwall. the difference is that carver blames hawke for it, while bethany blames herself. and i think some of the reason the former gets so much more meta/sympathy/etc is because self-esteem issues are a muddy and uncomfortable thing to talk about, and it’s easier to talk about carver’s issue. he has a scapegoat and a built-in success story: as soon as he strikes out on his own, he’ll be all right

i think bethany is less popular for a lot of reasons. first of all, mage seems to be a disproportionately popular class, so some people would never even meet her. also, she doesn’t make a very strong first impression. a lot of people think she’s bland so they wouldn’t be interested in keeping her in the party and getting to know more about her. because at first glance, she is the mild-mannered polite perfect daughter character. that’s who she has to be, because it averts suspicion from the templars if she follows the rules, sure, but also because it’s how she makes it up to her family for being a mage. they’ve already done so much for her without even asking; how could she possibly inconvenience them any more? she’s a burden just by existing, so she has to do everything she can, be as unobtrusive as possible, to make up for that

[ponticle]

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”